Soldier in Roses
by StarLight1013
Summary: Staff Sergeant Maddison Star has encountered her fair share of bizarre things in the Marines. Homicidal German soldiers, cranky British officers, even the occasional bomb. But nothing could have ever prepared her for the horror of re-entering school. Drama and hormones are the least of her problems when she encounters Peter Pevensie, a boy more Kingly than human. Rated T for lang.
1. Chapter 1

In the three years since the start of the war, we had all seen more than any of us should have. The deaths of loved ones and fellow soldiers, the takeover of nations, the rise of pure _evil_. Things none of us will ever be able to unsee. But currently, I can honestly say I've never encountered such a strange person as Lucy Pevensie. And her family for that matter. Even in the darkness of this dorm room, with all its quiet answers, I still can't fathom how one family can be so, peculiar. If peculiar can even begin to cover what level of strange they operate on.

"Emma! Lucy's talking in her sleep again!" Is that Blaire? Wait, no Elizabeth. They room together, I think.

"Right-o, love. I'll take care of that in a minute. How did you get in my room again?" The little dark haired girl cocked her head to the left, like she always did while talking. That quirk was just weird. And when did she turn on my light? I'm slipping, I think.

"You left the door unlocked. Aren't you supposed to, being a RA and all?" Right, I'm a RA. Or a baby-sitter, as the running joke with the guys goes. Elizabeth's looking at me oddly. I guess I should do something about Lucy. The fog of sleep begins to life, even though I really wish it wouldn't.

Heaving myself to my feet, and nearly falling in the process, I'm faced with the startling realization that I'm not in the barracks anymore. Again. After nearly six months of being in this damned school, one would think I'd be used to this by now. Clearly, I'm not used to waking up to whining twelve year olds. Or skirts. Those are infinitely worse than the twelve year olds.

"Aren't you coming Emma? Emma?" I smile softly, or as much as one can smile at some unknown, and certainly unholy, hour of the morning. Elizabeth pads softly out of my room, prison, whatever, and down the dimly lit hall, towards the suite she shares with Blaire, Lucy, and some other girl whose name I can't be bothered to remember at this point in time.

I'm not used to the name either, I suppose. No stranger than Maddison, certainly, but Emma isn't exactly a name I like. But, neither is this God awful wig they have me wearing. All day, every day. Yay for me.

The door to their suite is open, and Elizabeth leads me quietly into the adjoining room, where Lucy is, rather predictably, talking in her sleep. And not mumbling like a normal person, but actually talking.

"But Aslan, why can't we? What did I do wrong?" Same as last week, apparently. More about Aslan, more about what they, he, she, did wrong. And as much sense, or lack thereof, as normal. I'd wake her and get no answers. As usual. Pushing back a fake strand of dark hair, I move to wake Lucy, when she bolts upright. And subsequently out of the bed. That was different. Though, not to be confused with good. Crying twelve year olds are good.

Trying to maintain a calm façade, and not ask what the hell it was she was doing, I drop, wordlessly, into a crouch beside the frightened girl. And I'm positively dumbfounded. I haven't seen such fear since the battlefield. The raw fear, the sheer terror. A look a twelve year should never know. Another thing to note about the Pevensies. They seem to know more than they should. How government works, hell, how _war_ works. It shows when they speak to each other, in cryptic phrases that no one understands. How they respond to questions in class, how they respond to more deaths that come in frightening waves, listed in the papers like ads for puppies. Like it doesn't even phase them; almost like they've accepted the fact, and are simply working with it. I don't understand it. And this girl doesn't like not understanding something, especially when it's becoming this vital.

"Lucy?" Surprisingly, the voice doesn't emanate from me, but from her eldest brother. Who's somehow magically bypassed security. Oh wait, the security for the girl's dorms is Miss Kreamons. A woman so old, I'm still not entirely convinced she hasn't seen every one of America's wars. Not exactly someone to fear.

Lucy bolts from her position on the floor into Peter's arm in about five seconds flat. He's cradling her much like one would an infant, whispering soothing nothings into her ear. I can't honestly decide which part of this I find more odd; the fact that Peter's here at all, conveniently at the same time his youngest sister has some bizarre nightmare, or the fact that he's dressed. No pajama pants, no sleeping shirt, but his school uniform. This isn't adding up. At all. And as much as I hate to break up this increasingly strange reunion, I really need to know what's going on.

"Um, excuse me, but what are you doing here, Pevensie?" As a standard rule, drilled into me by a few years of military experience, I address people by their last name.

If the bizarre reactions that had already happened weren't undeniably leading to something even odder, I would have been surprised by the look given to be the eldest Pevensie. As it was, that look brought back some memories of the Corps. Memories that I thought I'd buried better when they put me under in this assignment. Withering looks of pure hate from German soldiers who were being pumped for information. And now, a withering look of pure hate from a boy who certainly wasn't a German soldier, but an older brother, a young man no more than seventeen.

Elizabeth, who I had honestly forgotten about, shuffled uncomfortably in the corner. Sparing her a side glance, I tell her to go back to her bed. Carefully skirting around Peter, she sprints around the tight corner, probably to tell Blaire all about this otherworldly occurrence. Sliding my attention back to Peter and Lucy I'm surprised, yet again, to find them speaking softly to each other. In a language I've never heard before. And I've heard quite a few languages in my three years in the Marines.

"What's going on here Pevensie? How did you know Lucy was in trouble?" Another look of contempt, and I'm back to being ignored. Lucy shakes her head fiercely, apparently not liking whatever Peter had said. Not that I know what's being said. I can feel the frustration welling up inside me. A Marine plus frustration rarely ends well. Frankly, someone usually ends up dead. I move to step closer to the pair, when Peter rises up. Not stands, but truly rises. Like some kind of king or something. Startled, a hard thing to do to a Marine, I shuffle back a few feet. Lucy watches us with some kind of calm fascination, casually watching her brother and I, like this has happened before.

Has it?

"You will not question what goes on within my family. You will stay out of our affairs, and you will mind your own business." Peter's command flows with a practiced ease, the authority radiating off him in waves. No Colonel I've ever encountered seems to stand up to the power that Peter is displaying. Not the power, or the calm anger. It's an anger I'm admittedly more terrified of than I usually would be. There's something about a measured anger that is infinitely more dangerous than an outburst. A level of clear-headedness that isn't usually found, a sort of rationality that leads to carefully laid out plans. I nod dumbly, distinctly aware that we've gathered a crowd outside the door.

Peter gently smiles at his sister, tenderly kisses her forehead, and turns to leave. The girls part before him, like something I've only ever read about happening to royalty. I trail after him in a confused daze, numbly aware that this isn't how this should have gone at all. Irritated by the thought of being beaten, _by a seventeen year old boy of all things_, I snap at the girls in the corridor.

"Bed! Now!" The girls scatter towards their respective rooms, some sparing quick glances towards Peter, who has stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall. As if the tables had somehow turned in those two words, Peter is staring at me, confusion marring his face. And I know why. Somehow or another, maybe by the will of God, I snuck a bit of a southern accent into my short command. An accent that should never be found in England. And Peter knows it.

Lucy hums softly, almost to herself, loitering in the doorway. "Maybe this is why we were sent back." I turn to question her on the odd phrase, but the door is closed with finality; the knowledge that this conversation will certainly not be continued clearly communicated. Wondering how this night had gone so off-course, I turn back to address Peter.

But Peter Pevensie has disappeared like a whisper in the night.

So, Meg here. This is my first story, in um, an embarrassingly long time. The first I've ever actually put on here. Please be honest… Do you love it, hate it, think it's the worst thing you've ever read? Please review, let me know; any updates (should anyone actually like this) will be done when this college girl carves out some time. Thanks all!


	2. Whispers in the Dark

Whispers in the Dark

As far as Friday's went, this had been a pretty crappy Friday. Even by military standards. At this point, I was pretty sure I'd blown that English exam, had nearly assaulted Marcy Vanderbilt (a dear friend of Susan Pevensie's as it turned out), and had _still_ yet to find Lucy Pevensie. That little twelve year old knew how to make herself scarce. And now I was heading to the single most degrading class I could have possibly been placed in. Basket weaving. What in the name of God's Green Earth. It's absolutely ridiculous. And sexually biased. All the girls in their 1st and 2nd year, which somehow correlates to the American Junior and Senior years, had to take this "class." And class my ass. This has to be the biggest waste of time, and exceedingly archaic. This "class" has apparently been a requisite since the school's inception. And let's make this clear. As a Marine, I can do a lot of things. Interrogate some of Germany's craziest, take down the worst of the world, _and _drive a car while firing a gun (I'm admittedly rather proud of that last one). But apparently, the one thing I can't do is weave a bunch of freaking sticks together to make a damned basket.

And of course, who is in this class with me? Susan freaking Pevensie. Of course. According to Lily Devonshire, the 3rd year RA, Susan wasn't always the caddy brat I've been forced to interact with. Apparently, this became an issue the same time the rest of her siblings all went off the deep end. And if it wasn't enough that I get to deal with the _fantastic _Susan Pevensie, all whopping 17 of us were forced into Room 342. Otherwise known as the Ice Box. Because apparently, while it's now the middle of February, doesn't mean there's any reason to turn on the heater. Another wonderful thing to note about England as a whole; it never seems to be warm. Even in August, it was barely mild. I'd really like to go back to Texas right now. It's cold sure, well in some parts anyway, but at least we have heaters.

As expected, it's currently below freezing in the Ice Box, and clearly Susan Pevensie's disposition isn't going to be warming it up any time soon. She appears to still be dwelling on what happened over lunch with Marcy. Not that it was any of her business. Actually, I'm not sure how it became any of my business frankly. I'm pretty sure I got pulled into that argument for the sake of argument. I now remember why I was so opposed to this mission in the first place. Going to high school was decidedly awful the first time around. Clearly, this isn't one of those things that gets better the more you do it. But, my mental digressions aside. Marcy Vanderbilt isn't here, and Susan Pevensie is. And glaring holes into me. Sitting in the middle is now not quite as advantageous as it once was.

According to my CO, the illustrious Master Sergeant Brandon Swayze, the middle is a great place to blend in. The back worked great for me in my first bout of high school, but I apparently need to integrate myself more into the woodwork of this school. Because, really, I'm not here for giggles. My mission started out to tail some high ranking German official's kid, upon which my superiors realized there were bigger fish to fry in Finchley. Supposedly, there is another undercover in these schools. And you can bet he, or she, isn't on the Allied side of things. Which, admittedly, would explain a lot. All the deaths, the locations of British soldiers coming under attack. Who would suspect a teacher, administrator, or especially another student, of being a German spy? Some would argue that as preposterous, that such a notion would be right up there with the possibility of there being an American spy. Oh wait…

After sleeping through most of Basket weaving, I was left to trudge back up to the dorms with the rest my fellow equally enthused girls. At this point, I don't think even MS Swayze would give me a hard time about sleeping through that. I'm a Marine, not Captain America. And, whereupon entering our dorm hall, I'm presented with Lucy Pevensie. And Peter, naturally. I seriously think he charms Miss Kreamons into letting him in here. I only catch a small portion of their conversation while trying to stealthily dive behind a bush. In typical Pevensie fashion, it's cryptic, and I can't make sense of a word of it, but something about this conversation is different. There's an element of wonder there, of hope. "Even after all this time?" Peter questions softly, to which Lucy replies, "Always." Yes Lucy, let's make things dramatic. This is why I like Marines. They're blunt and to the point.

Peter flies around the corner, thankfully not noticing my rather poor attempt at spying. Though, I apparently can't evade Lucy. She smiles like she knew I was hiding behind an obviously fake bush, and questions softly, "Do you believe in God Emma?" Well, okay, not what I was expecting. And I wish I knew how to answer her. Five years ago, at an innocent young 16, I would have answered yes. Today, at 21, seeing the death, the destruction, the blatant disregard for human life, I honestly didn't know anymore. And I told her so. The part about not knowing anyway.

Lucy smiled sadly, like she had expected as much. "Edmund said you wouldn't be sure. That you were like us; you had seen far more than you let on. Things you could never let go of." Simply stunned, I couldn't find the words to reply. Since when did a twelve year old, and her fourteen year old brother, get so insightful? My CO wasn't that eloquent, though telling me to go out, find a psycho (who may or may not be a traitor to his or her country), and not get killed in the process didn't require much of Shakespearian type expressiveness.

"Will you be going out to town tomorrow?" Startled by the sudden change in topic, I nodded numbly. I had no idea where this little girl was going with things, but then again, she might not either. Lucy smiled brightly, telling me she'd see me tomorrow, and went skipping off towards her room. Absolutely bizarre. I was left standing in the middle of the hallway, wondering where in the world a little girl could become so insightful.

The night from there on passed with no more incidents. No twelve year olds asking for anything, or whining. Such an unusual reprieve. One that left me alone to the darkness with my thoughts. I was left to wonder, which is usually not a great idea for a Marine. We wonder why the world is like it is, what causes all the terrible circumstances to happen, why we were where we were when it all happened. And for me, I wondered about Lucy. And the rest of the Pevensies. Lucy and her strange insightfulness, Edmund and his ability to outthink nearly anyone; why Susan was the distant, bitter girl I knew her to be, and Peter. A boy who wasn't really a boy at heart it seemed, a young man who, it seemed, would be willing to do whatever it took to protect his family to the end. And, I'll admit, a man who was far more attractive than any seventeen year old had the right to be.

My whispers into the dark led to no great revelations that night, and certainly not much sleep. By the morning, I was sufficiently tired, cranky, and tired of trying to be insightful. It was radically easier to simply wield a gun. Which is probably why the world is in the predicament it is. It was my duty this wonderfully dreary morning to escort my hall over to the little town that had formed near the school. A five minute walk, but one could never be too careful at this point. Pulling my natural blonde hair into a tight bun, I couldn't help but wish the wig wasn't a necessity. And it's really not. But it really is for the safety of everyone. I'd already been in the Corps two years by the time I took this mission, and there was no telling who would recognize me if given the chance. And these kids didn't deserve that fate.

The walk was monotonous, and wet, as usual. Anymore, all of England seemed to be shrouded in a grey cloak. To reflect the attitudes of its people, or its current state of warfare, I wasn't sure. It didn't much matter. Such misery apparently couldn't keep down a band of twelve year olds. Their energy was surprisingly refreshing. Even Susan smiled. And Peter seemed to be happy as well. He and Edmund shared a little smile, that I'm willing to bet held more to it than meets the eye. With all the kids off doing their own thing, mostly in groups of three or four (to ensure safety, according to the headmaster), I get to wind my way through one of the single handedly, creepiest bars in this town. _Le Sourire._ Still can't believe someone would name a bar of all things that, but the owner's British. And on our side of this war.

Harry Edwards was the epitome of a crotchety, old bar owner. He'd opened this place up before the first World War, nearly lost it when he'd been called to duty, then barely managed to keep it when the loan sharks came calling. A couple of Marine buddies had bailed him out, and he's been loyal ever since. I get a secure line to call up my CO, or whoever will answer the phone at this point, and a whole hour of seclusion. No possibility of kids coming knocking, or drunken men looking for what they referred to as a "good time." I greatly enjoyed it.

Except the part where I have to tell Swayze that, no, I still don't have any leads on who this leak might be. That yes, I do understand what's at risk. Because I certainly haven't forgotten what it feels like to have your life on the line every second of the day. I also am forced to admit that no one seems even remotely suspicious, not even the janitorial staff. Swayze sighs in that resigned manner, and tells me there's no uptake in chatter, but to keep on my toes. That it's been too quiet lately.

I can't help but mentally agree. It has been eerily quiet. Even with all the bombings around England and France as a whole. Hitler had to be planning something. What I wouldn't do to have The Cap here right about now. Nothing quite says hope like a nice looking guy in spandex. Or in uniform. Rogers was flexible like that.

In the end though, I couldn't be flexible like that. My mask had to stay on. Dark wig, funny British accent, and the damned slouching. All to protect a whole slew of kids who hadn't had the chance to live yet.

And maybe four people who had already seen, and lived, more than even I had.

****

Hello all! So, no reviews for the last chapter. Boo. But some of you (Chelsea2013, appaloosa128, buecherwurm91, and theoriginalgigglegirl) followed this story. Which means at least four of you care. I know this chapter is pretty boring, probably not the best way to get a follower or two, but it needed to be done. Get some background info out of the way, and give a better insight into who Maddison really is behind the British mask. I will totally recommend listening to Skillet's "Comatose" album while reading this, which is my inspiration for the title (they have a fantastic song of the same name). I still don't own anything, because if I did, well A. Suspian would be a real thing, and B. I wouldn't be paying on student loans. Those suck. They're a lot like Justin Bieber honestly; they don't go away, no matter how much you wish they would. To close off this really random, and wordy, Author's Note, I'm seriously going to beg you guys for one review. Just one. It'll make me so happy. Unless you're flaming and that's just sad.


	3. Ice

Rounds duty was never interesting. Wandering up and down halls checking for girls out of their rooms, poking awake other RAs who'd fallen asleep in the library, and occasionally running into the janitorial staff playing cards in the hall. Generally, rounds tended to be as interesting as reading death reports. But apparently, Susan Pevensie had decided tonight, an unusually cold Wednesday night, just demanded some drama. I wasn't even aware she was awake, to be honest. I wasn't due to start patrolling the grounds till after four in the morning. It was only two. Not that it really mattered; it's still too damn early to really be functioning.

According to sweet little John Parker, the senior groundskeeper who possibly had Miss Kreamons beat on age, he'd ran across Susan on one of the benches to the south of the building. Crying up a storm, he'd tried to ask if she was okay. At which point, she blew up on him. Told him to buggar off and leave her alone. Lovely. Exactly what I wanted to deal with at two in the morning in the middle of February.

Wandering out into the courtyard, it wasn't hard to spot Susan. Hunched over, dark hair falling softly over her face, and sobs wracking the air, Susan Pevensie appeared to be a hot mess. Stopping about ten feet from her, I debated how to approach this. As a Marine, I really wanted to tell her to buck it up, and move on. But something seemed different. I'd never seen Susan Pevensie cry. Lucy'd cried before. I'd even heard of Edmund shedding a few tears. But never Susan.

In the end, I did the only thing that made sense. I went and sat down beside her. It took her a few seconds to realize I was there, but she, surprisingly, didn't scream at me. Just looked, and started crying harder. At which point, I was officially out of my element. Crying girls aren't exactly my strong point. So I let her cry it out. It was bitterly cold, and I was freezing, but Susan had to be even colder. No jacket or sweater, just her white button down shirt. Sighing, I shifted my regulation approved school jacket of my shoulders, and draped it over her back. Susan glanced up and sniffled, but didn't say anything. Silence permeated the air for a few more minutes.

"Have you ever been in love, Emma?"

Surprised, I looked up from the stone I'd been staring at intently. Susan's pale blue eyes, now rimmed with a stark red, peered at me from underneath her hair. I stared for a few seconds, then shook my head, sensing now wasn't the time for me to be talking.

Susan nodded her head softly, then gazed longingly at the bright moon that illuminated the two of us. Silence reigned again, then Susan began her story.

"This last summer, before the school year started up again, we went back to the country. We'd been there before, when they evacuated everyone, surely you remember? Well, we all went back to visit the Professor, and I met Him. Oh Emma, he was simply, I don't even know how to describe him. Kingly, maybe?" Susan laughed wryly, and fell silent again. I didn't have a clue where she was going with this, but it must have been important to her. "Caspian, that was his name you see, swept me off my feet. Quite literally at one point. I knew I was falling in love. Every day I spent with him was better than the last. But he was older than me, older than Peter. He was being called off to fight, and well, I wasn't. The night before he left, I accidentally told him I loved him. I was so embarrassed Emma; I hadn't meant to say that out loud. And he just smiled at me, and told me he loved me too, Emma." Susan stopped here again, apparently loosing herself in the memory of what sounded like her first love. "We were in love Emma. I knew it was true love, and so did he. And we.."

"And you?" I probed gently, wondering where exactly this story was going, and what it had to do with her little emotional breakdown here in the courtyard.

"And we acted on it," Susan's cheeks colored darkly, and she ducked her head to force her hair to form a curtain between us.

Acted on it? What is that supposed to, oh. _Oh. _She meant, and they did, and oh, wow. That was not what I expected to come out of her mouth. I gaped at Susan silently, surely looking like a fish out of water. Something nagged at me though. That didn't seem to be the end of the story. Swallowing thickly, I braved a question. "What happened, Susan?"

Susan returned her gaze to the moon above us, and continued quietly. "Caspian went off to war, and we left the country. Came back home to be stuck in this infernal place. But it didn't end in the country Emma. Something wasn't right with me when we came back. My moods were all over the place, worse than they are now, if you can believe that. I was constantly sick, especially in the mornings. And I just wasn't _right_. And then a few weeks later, it hit me. I'd missed it."

Susan stopped here, and looked at me. Unfortunately, she'd completely lost me. "It?" I questioned, stressing the ambiguous pronoun.

She sighed. "You know, it?" She paused again and looked at me, clearly hoping she wasn't going to have to clarify. I was still as confused as ever, and Susan dropped her head against her knees. "My cycle."

I stared at her for a moment, then promptly choked on nothing but air. _Holy shit. _She'd been with child, but she wasn't now. I'd certainly never seen her look even remotely pregnant, and I don't remember her ever leaving for more than a couple hours at a time. Definitely not enough time to give birth to a child. I whipped my surprised gaze on her, awaiting an answer that would clarify.

Susan chuckled monotonously, then sighed again. "Yes. I was with child. Caspian's child was growing inside of me. And I was so excited. Admittedly, my timing was horrible. And Peter would've had a fit if he'd known. But it never came to that. I couldn't have been more than three months along, Emma. And it happened. My stomach was trying to kill me, and I started bleeding, and I fainted. When I woke up a few hours later, I knew. I knew I'd lost our child. I felt so hollow inside. Like some part of me had died, and I suppose it did."

Gaping at Susan, I waited to see if she would continue. She didn't, and simply returned to staring at the moon looming so far above us. Silence reigned again as I attempted to digest everything she'd told me. This explained so much. She'd fallen in love, almost become a mother at a mere sixteen years old, then had it all ripped away from her. And she hadn't told _anyone_. No wonder she'd been such a bitch. She'd been depressed for so long, and no one had done a thing. Me included. I suddenly felt like my own stomach was going to revolt on me.

"I didn't mean to snap at poor Mr. Parker," Susan apologized softly, her voice sounding about ready to crack. "It all just came crashing down today. What with everyone buzzing about that bloody dance coming up, it brought back memories of Caspian. Of how we used to dance. And then it hit me, today would have been the day. Well, probably. There may have been a few days given or taken, but about anyway. Today would have been the day I would have held mine and Caspian's son or daughter in my hands." Susan was shaking fiercely, and I pulled the poor girl in for a hug. Damn skippy, I now had absolutely no reason to not like this girl. She'd survived more than women twice her age had. And all alone at that.

"You're not going to write me up for being out after hours, are you?" Susan chuckled, sounding as if she really didn't care if I did.

"Wouldn't dream of it, hun," I said softly, gently pulling the girl, who was really more of a woman, all things considered, to her feet. "What I'm going to do is make you come inside where you won't freeze to death." Susan had looked up quizzically at my use of the word "hun", but didn't seem terribly suspicious. She seemed more excited about the prospect of heat.

When she reached up to remove my jacket from her shoulders, I waved my hand dismissively at Susan. "Keep it; though, I might come back looking for it later." I told her jokingly, watching the smile creep over her features.

We had just gotten back into the moderate warmth of the girls dorm when we heard the arguing. And the voice sounded terribly familiar. "Is that Peter?" I questioned, surprised. Peter never raised his voice to much of anyone. Susan nodded distractedly, then took off towards the front desk, which is where all the ruckus seemed to be emanating. And there was Peter, and Edmund surprisingly enough, trying in vain to get past the Headmaster. Miss Kreamons may have not been a problem, but the Headmaster was notoriously stubborn.

"Ah, Roberts. Glad you're here. Take these two back to their dorm. Don't let them come back" The Headmaster announced this as he was stalking off towards his office, clearly dismissing us. _Well, that's odd. Not even going to question what these two are doing here, or what Susan and I are doing outside at three in the morning?_

"Peter! Ed? What's going on?" Susan sounded borderline hysterical, and the two boys looked it. Turning my attention to Peter, I questioned what it was that was wrong.

"Lucy."

I sighed, then motioned for the Pevensie entourage to follow. Because, damn it all to hell, Peter Pevensie hadn't been wrong yet about his littlest sister. Bounding up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway that felt unusually long, we made it to room 248. And something was definitely wrong.

Light was streaming out from underneath the cracked door, and I could see the silhouettes of three young girls against the closest wall. Gently prodding the door open with my toe, I caught Elizabeth's, Blaire's, and Samantha's attention. Motioning for them to quietly stand and slip out the door, I snuck in the dreary room. Peter and Edmund directly followed, Susan bringing up the rear.

"Does it feel unusually cold in here to anyone else?" Susan whispered, her voice taking on a panicked edge. Edmund's face drained of all color, and Peter looked about ready to murder someone. While they stood in the suite's small common area, I crept silently over to Lucy and Samantha's door. And was surprised to find a woman already in there.

Flam red hair falling down her back, the woman already appeared to be everything a child dreaded dreaming about. A sharp jaw and thin mouth, coupled with wicked eyes the color of ice, this woman made _me_ shiver. And poor little Lucy looked terrified. Whimpering softly, Lucy had backed herself into the corner closest to the door.

Lucy looked up, and met my eyes, looking about ready to cry. Looking at me as if I were to save her. Luckily, or maybe not so, Peter took up that position. Slamming the door open, Edmund and Susan flanking him, Peter rounded on the bizarre woman currently terrifying little Lucy.

Surprised to find someone interrupting her, the woman rounded on Peter. In her momentary shock, I motioned for Lucy to slide in behind me. I may not have known this woman, but I do know an enemy when I see when.

"Why hello Little King," her voice sounded like shards of ice scraping across the frozen ground, and Peter snarled.

"Hello Jadis."

* * *

**So, I do live. Barely. Midterms were about the death of me, and finals are around the corner. Clearly, updates are going to be sporadic at best. Chapter 4 is the works, but who knows when it'll actually get finished. College isn't exactly allowing just a ton of time for creativity. With any luck, Chap. 4 will be up before Thanksgiving, but I make no promises. I still own nothing, except a really awesome How to Train Your Dragon blanket at this point and Maddison/Emma. As always, please read and review. To my lovely four reviewers, thank you. Somebody cares. **


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